


Into the Light

by judithandronicus



Series: Up We Go [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Frottage, Grieving Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: “Y-you’re here?” Dean reaches a shaky hand up against Castiel’s face, still uncertain, doubtful, even as his fingers drag against rough stubble, feel the all-too real illusion of Cas’ skin beneath them. It’s not possible, can’t be real, there’s no way. His eyes sting, heavy with the weight of new, not-yet shed tears, as Dean struggles to make his tongue move in his mouth.Explicit followup toThrough the clouds,picking up right where it leads off. Can be read as a standalone, if you want to skip the earlier angst-fest.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Up We Go [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010523
Comments: 22
Kudos: 176





	Into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Up We Go," Imaginary Future.

“Y-you’re here?” Dean reaches a shaky hand up against Castiel’s face, still uncertain, doubtful, even as his fingers drag against rough stubble, feel the all-too real illusion of Cas’ skin beneath them. It’s not possible, can’t be real, there’s no way. His eyes sting, heavy with the weight of new, not-yet shed tears, as Dean struggles to make his tongue move in his mouth.

“Cas? Are you…is it really—“

“Yes, Dean.” Cas covers Dean’s hand with his own, curling his fingers gently around Dean’s trembling ones, trapping them between the warmth of his face and hand. “I promise you, this is real.”

The world spins even further off its axis, and suddenly, Dean’s doubled over as days’ worth of whiskey and bile make their violent exit from his body.

Dean’s not quite sure what’s happening when he wakes up. Has he been passed out for hours, days? Fuck, who knows, anyway? It ain’t like he’s been keeping good track of time lately. It’s different from the last few times, however long it’s been, because something’s just…just _off_. He’s warm, warm in a way he hasn’t felt since...before it happened. Before he broke. Before that fucked up part of him decided to sit constant vigil on the cold, hard floor of a goddamn dungeon.

But it’s not just that. Yeah, that ache in his knees—the one that showed up right around his fortieth birthday—is still there, a dull reminder of a life of running himself ragged, but it’s not so intense today. And his head? It doesn’t feel like his brain is trying to punch through his skull; the roar of blood ain’t rushing in his ears; the now-familiar throbbing he’s come to expect from waking up after a blackout is missing.

He’s sober.

Even stranger, he’s sober, but not hungover. It’s been so long since that has happened, Dean just doesn’t know how to process. Maybe he should pass the fuck back out.

“You need to drink this,” an all-too familiar voice rumbles.

Dean manages a wordless grunt of dissent and tucks his head back into the warmth enveloping him. This feels too good to be real, so he’s gotta milk it while he can. He’s vaguely aware of a huff of breath, the rise and fall of the solid mass beneath his head. It’s nice.

Comforting.

Cozy, like a hug.

There’s a delicate sensation, something his touch-starved ass can only interpret as a caress, ghosting along his cheek, soft and reassuring. It’s like fingers gently carding through the hair above his ear, and it’s better than Christmas. Dean purrs like a goddamn kitten at it, snuggles in closer to whatever the fuck beautiful illusion is happening. Hopes he never wakes.

“Eventually, you’re going to have to acknowledge that I’m not an illusion.” The fingers caressing his head slide down his neck, brush across his collarbone to rest against his shoulder. _That_ shoulder. Electricity runs straight to Dean’s spine, making his whole body shiver. Dean throws his leg over Castiel’s thighs and burrows his face deeper into his armpit.

“Can’t risk it,” Dean murmurs, sleepy and content, “don’t wanna lose you again.”

“Alright, Dean.”

As he drifts back into sleep, Dean feels a pressure on the top of his head that reminds of when his mom would kiss him goodnight.

Bacon.

Dean wakes to the scent of bacon permeating the room, overwhelming the subtle hint of aspen trees and ozone wrapped around him like a security blanket. It’s a lot to take in.

He hasn’t even managed to open his eyes when his stomach gurgles, crying out at its mistreatment in the past weeks. Dean can’t remember the last time he actually ate something solid, and suddenly, he’s fucking ravenous.

Wiping the sleep away from his eyes, he blinks himself into awareness. He’s in his room, and can’t for the life of him remember how he got here.

“Good morning.”

_What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck._

At the sound of that gravelly voice, too much happens at once.

“What the fuck?” Dean jerks upright.

Cas. _Cas_. _Castiel is here._ The warmth embracing him, stroking his cheek and back and holding him close and comforting—

“Cas?” Dean’s frozen in place in the middle of his bed, staring up at a ghost.

A ghost in a rumpled trenchcoat and suit, all too familiar except it’s now entirely black, and that beautiful, almost completely new light in his eyes, shiny with unshed tears.

“You’re…what…is it,” Dean’s voice trembles; any attempt at actual words getting lost somewhere between his head and his mouth, leaving nothing but a broken whisper. “Cas?”

Cas smiles at him, careless of the tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Hello, Dea—“

Dean tackles him, mouth crashing against Castiel’s to taste his name on his angel’s lips. “You’re here. You’re here. You’re here.” The words fall from Dean’s mouth like a litany, kissed and licked and nibbled into Castiel’s flesh as he wraps his hands around the angel’s neck, pulling and clawing to get impossibly closer.

Without realizing it, Dean’s crawled into Cas’ lap, knees bracketing his hips as he kisses, desperate and wild and hungry, more teeth and tongue than anything resembling finesse. But it’s okay, of _course_ it’s okay, because Cas is here and meeting him, kiss for desperate kiss, broad palms sliding against his back, firm and solid and _here_ and _real_ and it’s better than…god, it’s better than anything Dean can remember.

Dean’s a needy mess already, writhing in Castiel’s arms, and that’s before the angel grips him by the hips, fingers kneading his ass, and pulls him down.

 _Fuck. That’s Cas’ cock._ His brain struggles to comprehend, to process everything, even as he body just responds, mindless, to the hot bulge grinding against his own erection. He rocks and gyrates his hips, rubbing their dicks together, seeking out more friction. After all this time, he can’t believe it, that he’s got his angel here, holding him and kissing him and it’s better than he ever imagined and then without warning it’s _gone._

 _No,_ why is Cas _stopping?_ Cas is still holding his hips, but now he’s lifted him up and away, severing every other point of contact between them, and Dean wants to _cry_.

Fuck, he _is_ crying. How long has he been crying?

“Cas,” Dean whines, and that single syllable contains multitudes. _Why_ and _please_ and _don’t stop_ and _more_ and _stay_ and, most important, _I love you, too_.

“Wait, Dean,” Cas begins. “I…I need to know what this…” His voice trails off, a shadow of uncertainty flickering across that beautiful face, dimming the light in those ice-blue eyes. Cas draws his lower lip between his teeth as he glances down at the floor. “I can’t…” he says, voice tremulous, and Dean has to fix it. Has to wipe away the uncertainty, to kiss where Cas chews timidly on his lip, has to make it better. Has to make it _right._

“You left before I could answer,” he whispers. “You told me you love me and just _left._ ” More tears spill down his cheeks, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but here and now and Castiel is back and he’s got to get this out. “You left before I could—”

“Dean—“ Cas tries to interrupt him, but Dean stops him, covers those beautiful lips with his rough palm. He can feel Cas swallowing, still chewing on the inside of his lip.

“Stop that,” he chastises, loosening his grip so that he can tug Cas’ lip free with his thumb. “These are too pretty for you too be messing ‘em up like that.” He leans down and presses his lips against Castiel’s.

“You need to let me finish.” Dean feels a surge of confidence bubbling inside him, twisting his face into a soft smile. “It was a dick move you pulled,” he continues, quirking an eyebrow in warning when Cas starts to interject. “Because you didn’t let me say it back.”

Dean watches in awe as the love of his life cycles through approximately 347 emotions in a matter of seconds, each one flashing a different micro-expression across that magnificent face. What he lands on has to be the most breath-taking thing Dean’s ever seen. Cas’ cheeks are wet with his own tears, a beatific smile on his lips and those eyes…the sheer love and adoration in those eyes defies all description. _Hope._

“I love you, Castiel,” Dean says, with a certainty and self-assurance he never dreamed possible. “You…you changed me, too.”

This time, it’s Cas who takes the lead, surging up to lick into Dean’s mouth with a feral growl. He kisses Dean with a bruising force, staking claim with lips and teeth and tongue. Dean melts into it, meets the desperation of Castiel’s desire with his own, sucking on the tip of the angel’s tongue, scratching his fingernails along the back of Cas’ neck.

“Too many clothes,” Dean manages to pant between kisses. “Can we…” he reaches for the trenchcoat and pushes it down Castiel’s shoulders, just far enough for Cas to get the memo. In a flash, it’s gone, along with every other cloth barrier between them. Dean groans at the first graze of skin against skin. _“_ Fuck, just _fuck_.”

And then Cas is kissing him again, wild and hungry, even as he’s pressing Dean down into the memory foam soft and gentle, like Dean’s something precious, something you take care of, and it’s all so much Dean forgets he’s supposed to panic at feeling another dude’s dick rubbing up against his own. Because…because _Cas,_ and nothing has ever been this right in the history of goddamn _anything._

Speaking of dicks, he thinks, his is harder than goddamn steel right now, pulsing with need each time Cas’ slides against it. He didn’t even get a _look_ at it, Dean realizes, only slightly hysterically, but he figures there’s time for that later. Right now, it’s all hot and hard, just slick enough to keep the friction on this side of too much, and he’s not sure if it’s him or Cas or both of them leaking precome enough to smooth the glide but _fuck_ if it don’t feel incredible.

It takes a bit, but eventually their movements sync up, awkward rutting giving way to a rhythmic push and pull as they rock together, and Dean can feel the orgasm coiling up at the base of his spine like a snake getting ready to strike. Cas is chanting something in Enochian as he licks and sucks up and down Dean’s neck, and Dean just babbles in response, not sure if he’s actually saying words or just moaning.

One particularly aggressive thrust sends Cas’ cock between Dean’s thighs, the head butting up along his perineum, ghosting his asshole. It’s unexpected and sudden and feels so fucking good Dean wants to cry. Maybe he still is. _Fuck_. “Again,” he pleads, his nails clawing furrows down either side of Castiel’s spine so that he can grab hold of that perfect ass. He wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist, too, digging his heels in to Castiel’s cheeks just below his hands to keep him close.

Cas grunts, immediately complies, and they get back into a rhythm like this, Cas’ dick teasing at his hole with each thrust.

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” Dean whimpers into the sweat-slick skin at the crook of Castiel’s neck, as he feels his climax approaching from the dual onslaught of the cock against his hole and the friction of Castiel’s belly against his dick. He grinds artlessly into it until he’s at the edge, on the verge of the most intense orgasm of his whole damn life, when the tip of Castiel’s cock catches on his rim for just a moment. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is all she wrote. Dean’s whole body tenses and then he’s exploding, shooting hot and wet between their bodies as he comes.

Dean’s still coming down from his own release when he feels Cas come against his hole, spurt after spurt of it dirtying him up in the most delicious way he’s ever felt. Exhausted, Cas drops all of his weight onto Dean, and Dean just eats it up, stays all wrapped around him like a goddamn baby koala. Because _Cas._

Eventually, they’ll have to move. Dean knows this.

Eventually, they’ll have to talk and strategize and somehow figure out how to save the world again. Dean knows this.

Eventually, Dean’s stomach reminds him with a growl, he’ll need to eat that bacon.

But for now, all that can wait just a little longer.

Because _Cas._ Cas is _here_ and _real_ and loves Dean back. And for now, that’s all that matters.

Oh we will turn our luck around  
Find the other side of down  
Take a step into the light

**Author's Note:**

> May the next two weeks bring us happiness for canon Destiel. But, even if it doesn't, I'm thankful to the fandom for all the wonderful fixits that will come into being.


End file.
